On the Verge of Rebellion
by Cececat
Summary: London, 1976. A quiet young copy typist named Lucy spends her free time writing stories about her alter-ego 'Liza Sternstaub'. These scandalous stories are wish fulfillment for well-mannered Lucy, who secretly dreams of being able to act like 'Liza'. Then three odd people move into the flat above Lucy's. Will these new neighbors bring adventure? (Please Read & Review!)
1. The New Neighbors

**Disclaimer: I don't own _The Rocky Horror Picture Show_**

 **A/N: Another story. Oh dear. I've just got so many ideas!**

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My name is Miss Lucy Jones, and I was precisely 20 years old at the start of this story.

You won't want to hear of most of my life for it is _awfully_ dull. My father worked in law for many years, I _shall_ say, and my mother did nothing that resembled work for all her years. Though I was born in raised in Surrey, at the time of this tale I resided in a nice flat in a _respectable_ part of London.

I work as a typist-for-rent at a nearby publisher. That means I'm the gel that types up notes handwritten by various writers. People say a word processer will replace my work when they become more accessible to the general public, but I hope to be married by then. The young man I was going out with looked on the verge of proposal at that point. My life has been carefully plotted out.

Then there's my other life. My life as the lovely, mysterious Miss Liza Sternstaub. This life was perfectly spontaneous… and quite fictional. I wrote her stories under the name Patricia Dennis, you see. Nobody knew that sweet little Lucy Jones was living out her mad fantasies under that name. Even if I'd mentioned it to someone – say, my landlady – the person wouldn't believe me.

Liza could say all the things I couldn't. It was like what Dr. Jekyll meant to do with that potion of his. All the darkness, the naughtiness… Liza was my dark side. She was probably an alien – yes, I did steal a _bit_ from Mr. Bowie's Ziggy Stardust persona – and lived in the not-so-great part of the city. There she gambled, wore fishnets, and kissed other young woman (as well as the usual men). Each story of hers involved her getting out of whatever horrid trouble she'd gotten herself into via clever remarks and her many 'contacts'. It was all terribly film noir. I wrote it as if I were writing a detective story through the femme fatale's carefully made-up eyes.

Since the stories were only popular with a very small audience I couldn't rely on them for steady income. Anyway, it seemed more respectable to keep going to my normal job. I wanted to reckless like Liza, but I knew I didn't have the stomach for half of what she did. Everything – even stuff that wasn't _too_ bad – scared me.

The day our story begins was a Sunday. Now, I don't work on Sundays. I usually spend the day cleaning up my flat or working on one of Liza's little stories.

When I heard the knock on the door I'd just gotten up. It was nine (I try not to sleep in too far on Sundays) and a therefre strange time for people to try invading my flat. The shops aren't even open on Sundays at nine, and most are sleeping or at church. Neither were things I liked very much.

"Who is it?" I called, when I heard them knocking.

"It's me!" replied a voice I knew to be my landlady's.

Old Mrs. Hudson was a short, round woman with piercing gray eyes and gray hair she always wore pinned tightly. Like most people her age things like glam rock and made her nervous. This was one reason we got along so well. We both didn't really like what my generation liked. Mrs. Hudson claimed Ziggy Stardust made her feel a bit ill, though she seemed to like the earlier Beatles records fine. I was intimidated by the rebellious nature of a lot of the 'modern' things, while she just didn't like them because old fashioned was better to a little old lady.

Eventually I'd got by knit dress – knit was in style then – and it's matching hat on right. It was time to go see what Mrs. Hudson wanted. So, I left the bedroom and went to open the door (it was though the sparsely-furnished living room).

To my shock it wasn't just Mrs. Hudson who stood there. With her was a couple, probably in their early thirties or so. The woman was highly attractive, redheaded, and wearing a stylish black dress. The man was most likely somewhat older and dressed a bit like something from the late 1950s. He might've been bald, though it was hard to tell with the fedora hat he wore. She was smiling sweetly, while he looked terribly tired (or possibly pissed-off). Not to my surprise it was the former who first spoke.

"Hello! You must be Miss Jones. My name is Patricia Williams, this here is my husband Roderick Williams. We've just moved into the flat above yours with our daughter Laura," she said cheerfully, in a prim – and possibly rehearsed – RP accent. "How _are_ you?"

I smiled nervously at her. "I'm well enough. Would you like a cup of tea? I was about to make some."

This was true, somehow. It was breakfast time and the only thing one can find in my pathetic little closet of a kitchen is a nice cup of tea and the occasional loaf of bread. I actually don't really care for tea. Though I'm English, so it's practically a requirement that I at least attempt to enjoy drinking our favorite drink.

"No, we don't like tea," Roderick said dully. "Anyway, Laura is trying to cook something and we need to make sure she hasn't caught this building on fire yet."

"Why doesn't Miss Jones go with us?" Patricia asked, still smiling.

Her happiness was beginning to bother me. It was like she was a lightbulb of cheer that wasn't going to be turned off soon enough. A blinding, attractive lightbulb of cheer…

Our landlady beamed. "That sounds like a _nice_ idea!"

Being around the Lightbulb (as I'd decided to mentally call Patricia) would be weird, though I couldn't help but wonder what the daughter was like. Perhaps she was a cross between her parents. That is, a normal person.

"Alright," I said, simply.

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 **A/N: You've probably already guessed who the "William" family really is (the aliens and Columbia). It's supposed to be at least a _bit_ obvious. Though, if convention footage is correct, Patricia Quinn is more of a Lightbulb of Cheer than Magenta could ever be...**

 **Please Review!**


	2. Breakfast Upstairs

**Disclaimer: I don't own _The Rocky Horror Picture Show_**

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 **A/N: Lucy visiting the other flat, Riff lying about his age, Columbia being a bad cook, a proper cup of tea, and related weirdness. Also, "Patricia" is still called a lightbulb by our allegedly sane protagonist.**

 **By the way... I just added a cover. It's got pictures of the characters... plus David Bowie. He's cool, but kinda dead. Though basically all cool people who aren't Richard O'Brien, Patricia Quinn, John Cleese, Nell, Tim Curry, and William Shatner are dead currently...**

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I followed them up the stairs and to their apartment. The place was full of cardboard boxes – some opened, some still sealed. Later I noticed that the walls desperately needed repainting and that most of the furniture really needed replacing. Mrs. Hudson hadn't bothered with the place in a long time...

As soon as I entered the living room I could smell the wretched stench of toast caught on fire. Only moments later I noticed a girl's squeaky voice singing _Starman_ by Ziggy Stardust.

Richard frowned disapprovingly. " _That_ would be Laura."

Patricia beamed. "She just _adores_ that song, you know. Reminds her of a nice young man she used to know!"

"He wasn't _nice_ ," Richard said, scowling. "That girl was only about nineteen when they… met. Haven't I explained all he did?"

I added this up in my head. Mr. and Mrs. Williams couldn't possibly be as young as they looked. "How old _are_ you – if I may ask?"

"I'm 42, and she's about the same," Richard explained.

"Well, I'm 20," I replied awkwardly.

"That's lovely! So is dear little Laura," said the Lightbulb of Cheer.

Then, nobody spoke for a moment. It seemed terribly awkward, you know. Something about the Williams family felt off. Like they were both lying and being terribly truthful. It unnerved me. Thankfully, a distraction soon came.

"Oh, _shit_!" shrieked the person who'd, moments before, been singing.

"That's Laura," Richard said, sighing wearily.

Another awkward silence fell upon us. Then…

"Time to confront that foolish girl," Patricia said brightly.

So, we three walked into the kitchen. I nearly felt like Liza! Though it wasn't really _that_ rebellious, meeting the new neighbors and being invited to breakfast with them. It was a _safe_ level of riotous behavior. Then I saw the kitchen…

It was a deranged mess, that. At least one plate smashed on the floor, gloopy batter dripping from an overturned bowl, and the toast had nearly caught fire it was so blackened. Even easy-going, cheerful Patricia looked shocked!

At least the tea was alright (as I later learned).

In the middle of this chaos stood a teenaged girl with short pink hair, a lit cigarette sticking out of her mouth, and a slight expression of confusion. She was dressed in a _colorful_ collage of clothes that included a Beatles t-shirt and an old, nearly tattered miniskirt. There were also bright, blinding, striped socks. It all made me feel lightheaded, so I clutched the doorframe.

"Hiya Mom, Dad! Can you help with the pancakes?" she said.

The cigarette almost fell out of her mouth, so she stowed it behind her ear. I hate it when people do that.

At this, Richard rolled his eyes. "Alright, Laura. I'll make your beloved pancakes."

"And I'll get the tea!" his wife added.

Laura shuffled out of the way as her parents got to work. Then, she spotted me standing in the doorway.

"Oh! You're the neighbor downstairs!

"And you're American," I replied, just noticing.

She rolled her eyes. "Oh how depressing. My… parents lived there for a while."

"Really? I hear it's an interesting place."

"Ha! It really isn't. But Frankie sort of made it cool. He's why we left…"

"Who?" I asked.

She sighed. "He's this guy who dressed like a girl. We dated, I guess. Then he started going out with my ex Eddie. Frankie was one weird queen. It's a bit like the song _Rebel Rebel_ by Bowie _._ Ya know… "you've got you're mother in a whirl, she's not sure if you're a boy or a girl". That could've been his theme song. Though that cat was wacky enough that his them could've been _Starman_. You know… I miss him. All I can think sometimes is how I miss him…"

"Laura! What are you talking about, kiddo?" Patricia said.

"Nothing," Laura replied sullenly.

The happy lightbulb grinned. "Great!"

It was then that breakfast (pretty pancakes, slightly unpleasant sliced-up apples, and tea glorious tea) had finished being prepared. We all sat down in the living room. Since they really wasn't much of a table yet Laura sat on the floor while I sat on the couch with her parents. Because they weren't a very touchy couple I felt quite comfortable around them.

This family would make fine enough neighbors, I then decided.

Then I saw poor something in a flask into her mug of tea. Something alcoholic. Though as long as she didn't try giving me any of it, her apparent habit was fine by me. Anyway, it was something Eliza would do. Perhaps I'd found my character's real-life counterpart.

Or perhaps not. Dreams so mad rarely come true…

Eventually we finished eating. Laura retrieved the cigarette hidden behind her ear and wandered off, while Richard soon disappeared.

"What do you do, Patricia?" I asked.

She grinned. "I act, in plays and such."

"How exciting! Can you demonstrate a scene from a current production of yours?" I asked.

The bright look on her face faltered. "Why, no…"

Thankfully, it was then that Laura returned in search of her 'mom'. This saved Patricia and I from a potential awkward silence. Though, to my confusion, Laura seemed panicked.

"Dad called a meeting...?"

Patricia sighed. "It's about the strange blue box and my friend, yes?"

"Yeah…"

Without further ado I was essentially kicked out of their flat. This was awfully rude of them. What bothered me most, though, was how Patricia was randomly lying. To be an actress seemed stylish, I realized. So maybe she wanted to seem more fashionable than your usual housewife. The idea of being a housewife sounded delightful, so I couldn't see _why_ …

Though the whole Williams family seemed strange. For one thing, I never saw Richard take off his hat. It was borderline stylish to be bald so that wasn't it. Anyway, if he really happened to be in his 40s – which I was starting to doubt – then it wouldn't be uncommon.

At least young Laura didn't seem suspicious. Just a bit eccentric by my standards, I suppose. Though she was a teenager.

And so I came to an unfortunate conclusion: they'd be awful neighbors!

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	3. A Proposal and a Play

**Disclaimer: I don't own _The Rocky Horror Picture Show_**

 **A/N: Here things get even odder... just look at what play Lucy and her boyfriend go and see! _That_ also hints at the cause of Magenta's strange behavior. **

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The rest of that day's morning and afternoon was dull – as usual. I wrote more stories about Liza, at least. Patricia showed up in one of the stories as some sort of love interest to my character. In the story she was wife of man who owned one of Liza's usual haunts. I quickly discarded that page.

Soon before dinner time my fiancé arrived at the door. His name is Mr. Terry Dent, and he's the sort of decent young man mocked on _Monty Python_. At the time he was about 27 and working in a respectable office doing something forgettable. He wore a nice suit.

"Hello, darling," he said politely.

"Hullo, Terry," I replied unhappily.

He frowned. "What's wrong?"

"The strangest family moved into the flat above. Nobody's lived there in years, so Mrs. Hudson terribly happy about it. But the fa-"

" _Really_? Well, I want you to forget all about them now. We're going to that nice place in Chelsea you've always been fond of and to the theatre afterwards. There's a play the boys at the pub have been all _raving_ about."

"What's the play?" I asked, curious.

Terry chuckled. "I can't recall the title. Though they're all awfully excited about it so I decided to buy tickets. It's being performed in a cinema, would you believe it?"

"How fascinating."

Then we got in a cab – which had been waiting outside for us. Nobody spoke save for the enthusiastic driver. He happened to be a recent immigrant from Italy and spoke with a dramatic accent. Like many Italian men might, he flirted jokingly with me and made Terry a bit nervous. I think we were both glad when he dropped us of outside the restaurant we were going to.

It's a nice place. The food was decent and there weren't usually many people. That evening was especially quiet. The waiter was especially happy to be serving us our wine. It was as if he knew a wonderful secret he could barely keep quiet.

Before we could ever order our food Terry suddenly knelt down on the floor and produced a little box from inside his jacket. Then he took a pretty diamond ring out of it.

"Miss Lucy Jones… will you marry me?" he asked.

"Oh! Why, yes, that sounds lovely," I replied.

That seemed the proper answer. I'd been expecting this for a while so I already knew what I was going to say.

"Jolly good!" he exclaimed. Then, he stood up and gave me a quick kiss on the cheek. "This is just splendid."

"Congratulations, dear!" an elderly woman sitting nearby said.

I smiled politely at everyone. Then, our food arrived and we ate in excited silence. It all seemed so right then. Though a wedding meant talking to my parents again, it also meant my life was going according to plan. Not to mention I'd get to leave my current home and therefore escape the new neighbors. Because of all this I was in a delightful mood/

Too bad things went downhill not much later.

At about eight we left. People kept wishing us good luck or something as we made our way to the door. It was all a bit. Why does the mention of a wedding bring feelings of joy to everyone's shriveled little heart? Do they share the couple's happiness for a moment? Who knows!

We got into another cab and went right to the theatre. It was at a 500-seat place called King's Road Theatre. With a collection of other smartly dressed playgoers we entered the theatre itself. Indeed, it was a converted cinema. Then I saw the playbill… the summary…

"Oh, _my_ …" I muttered.

This play looked like something Liza would be fond of. I secretly enjoyed it but it was terribly risqué. And it only got worse! It seemed to be an attempt to shock the audience speechless. Though it also attracted me – and others, apparently. It had a strange charm. Not to mention the catchy songs.

It was called _The Rocky Horror Show_.

As we left, at the end, Terry was rather flustered. "I'm sorry you had to, er, see that. I hadn't realized-"

"Oh, don't worry. It's only a play! That can't harm anyone."

Chuckling slightly, he then walked me up to my door. There we bid each other goodbye and he cheerfully left.

After going into my living room I collapsed onto my couch. The music still went 'round my brain and the characters remained vivid in my mind. Though it seemed scandalous at first I began to realize there was an odd innocence to it. It was all liked the wild, hidden daydreams of someone timid and well-mannered. It was _me_.

Somehow I couldn't help but write about it.

Since the characters belonged to someone else, it wasn't publishable like what I'd write about Liza. Though it's not like I wanted to share my story. I stayed up far too late scribbling into a notebook. It was sort of a secret, a diary. The bridge between Liza and me. Her reaction to the events of the play would different from mine. I was more like the character Janet, come to think of it…

I wished the characters were real. I wrote as if writing about real people, friends. It meant so much to me!

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The next morning I awoke in the living room, pen in hand, and still wearing my evening clothes. I felt like Liza.

To my horror, it was time to go _already_. I quickly showered, dressed, and spent too long looking for my purse. Once I found it and fixed up my lipstick I rushed out the door. That's when I noticed my new ring shining prettily on my finger. That calmed me slightly. Soon enough I'd be Mrs. Dent…

In the hallway I ran into Patricia. For some reason she didn't seem like that Lightbulb of Cheer (as I'd thought her to be) anymore. Instead she seemed tired and annoyed. She was smoking a cigarette.

"Did you not sleep well?" I asked.

"Sure," she muttered.

After staring at her for a while I bid her goodbye and made my way to work.

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	4. An Invitation and a Dinner

**Disclaimer: I don't own _The Rocky Horror Picture Show_**

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 **A/N: It seems like nobody is reading this. That's depressing. I'm having so much fun writing, at least. The mystery involving Magenta's somewhat OOC behavior is supposed to be exciting. My stories don't have enough mystery to them, often...**

 **And I'm sorry about all the smoking of cigarettes. It's like the characters are writing the story and smoke (like most people did in the 50s to 60s, though less so in the 1970s). Still, it's very random and I'm not sure why I'm writing it. Also... sorry about the cursing. It's a slight reference to a scene in Monty Python's _Meaning of Life_.**

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When I returned home from work I heard someone's footsteps inside my apartment. This surprised me, of course. Though I assumed it to be Terry. He'd had a copy of my key for a while by then and he was my fiancé. Perhaps he'd brought me flowers, I thought. Then I opened the door.

Standing in the middle of the room was Patricia. Like earlier, she was smoking a cigarette. Though now she also happened to be reading through _The Rocky Horror Show_ stories I'd written. That wasn't good at all. No, she was reading my secrets!

"You sure have an imagination," she said darkly.

It seemed there were two sides to Patricia. The cheerful 'lightbulb of happy' I'd first met and the dark creature reading what was basically my diary. This frightened me quite a bit. Could it be some sort of mental disorder? Perhaps multiple personalities? I'd believed that wasn't really possible. Though Patricia was making me wonder.

" _That_ isn't your business," I pointed out.

She raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Says who?"

"Why are you here?" I asked, glaring at her.

"Why not? I was _bored_ , you know. London is very dull for a city. Everyone's so proper and prim and polite and _cowardly_. You haven't got any fucking balls, the lot of you. So busy not being interesting. It's like you want to be dull. I've lived in the American suburbs, they're supposed to be dull. Are you, my fucking, supposed to be dull?"

I winced at her cursing, then replied: "I doubt anyone's supposed to be dull. And surely you We're both British… aren't we?"

"No, I'm not British. I'm so daring I've fucked blood relatives and a young lady I know – on separate occasions, of course."

"You're joking!"

She laughed. "No, I'm perfectly serious. Where I'm from we're all like that… and that sure isn't this polite little place."

At that point I wasn't sure whether she was messing with me or not. The serious look on her face could've been faked if she was an actress. Or even if she just happened to be a good liar.

"I've heard it said that people in Norfolk engage in similar semi-taboo sexual practices, but I believe that's just a joke of some sort. And that still doesn't explain you being here," I said, eventually.

"I was _bored_ ," she said, taking the cigarette out of her mouth and throwing it onto an ashtray on the table. "Your little story gave me something to laugh about. It's pretty decent, as far as stories go. Have you ever seen _The Rocky Horror Picture Show_?"

"I thought it was called _The Rocky Horror Show_ ," I replied.

She rolled her eyes. "That's the play. When they made it into a picture show last year they changed the name. Would you like to go see it, say, this Wednesday? I think you'll like it very much if these attractively descriptive stories are anything to go by."

"Well... I've got a date with Terry on Wednesday," I told her, blushing.

Now she smiled. It wasn't the usual 'lightbulb' smile I'd come to expect from her. No, it was something far more sinister. This bothered me considerably.

"Why don't Mr. Williams and I invite you over for dinner this evening? Then you can show Laura your nice ring," she exclaimed. "You aren't busy _tonight_ – yes?"

"I'm not busy," I told her, then wished I hadn't.

"Perfect. So, vill you then?"

Her accent's brief switch into a Bela Lugosi imitation bothered me even more. Something was very wrong with that woman all of a sudden. I decided to do all I could to get her _away_. That meant, in this case, agreeing with her.

"That sounds lovely."

"Vonderful. So, you'll be there at about six? You don't need to dress up nicely because we'll all be very casual about things!" she called, as I sent her back to her own flat...

All too soon it was six in the evening. Time to go eat dinner with some very odd people who I only sort of liked. So I went and knocked on their door. Patricia, now very cheery and pleasant again, opened it. I could smell some sort of tomato sauce and fresh toast of some kind. Toast is nice.

"Oh! Hello, Lucy," Patricia said. "Do come in."

So, I followed her to the living room. A dining room table had been set up there already. Laura was already sitting down there. Some sort of pasta had been cooked for us to eat and then covered in tomato sauce. There was also a bowl of garlic toast that looked lovely. The pasta was a bit undercooked but overall the food was good.

Our conversation at the table was an odd one. It began with Laura proclaiming that David Bowie was 'very cool'. This amused me slightly. It would've annoyed Mrs. Hudson, you know.

"That's nice," Patricia muttered. She seemed a bit distracted (or maybe confused), though at least she'd gone back to being lightbulb-like.

"You know, I wish I could meet Mr. Bowie. Befriending such a person would be real fun. What a life he surely lives," Laura said dreamily. "Ya know, I could be his groupie."

"Oh, but those sorts of people are all on terrible drugs!" I pointed out, alarmed.

"I know about drugs. I've had the misfortune of having to read the Ear- _American_ writer Hunter S. Thomas as some sort of research assignment," Richard said darkly.

"And you actually did some, didn't you dear?" Patricia added helpfully. "That poppy stuff. Heroin's the name, if I recall correctly. Not to mention we've all smoked grass at some point..."

As the conversation carried on without me I began to wonder if she was on drugs. That would explain her sudden switches from 'lighbulb' to 'gloomy'. Then again, that could be pinned on a mental problem of some kind. I really wasn't sure. Though it was at least a touch unsettling. As we ate our nice little dinner, I vowed to discover the truth behind it all.

Maybe it was the cigarettes. Whenever Patricia was being gloomy she had a cigarette in her hand. Though Laura had smoked in her presence, so it wasn't the cigarettes themselves…

I thought about this as we all ate and Laura chattered about all sorts of things. Her American accent was a bit bothersome. I wasn't used to people talking like that. Why are Americans so loud? They were horrid as a choir of off-key Russian who'd drunk far too much of their beloved vodka.

And _then_ it was time for us all to go to the cinema. Oh dear.

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	5. Double Feature

**Disclaimer: I don't own _The Rocky Horror Picture Show_**

 **A/N: I haven't updated this in about nine weeks. That's a long time. People need to review more, you know. I never can tell which stories should be updated first when people aren't reviewing.  
**

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The cinema we ended up at claimed to be playing a double bill of the comedy _Young Frankenstein_ and the _Rocky Horror_ film adaption. I hadn't heard of the former, which was American in origin. It looked amusing enough. In the very least it probably wasn't as bothersome as Rock Horror. Americans are funny and more careful at censoring things. I suppose it's because they're all a bunch of fun-hating puritans at heart. Not that such a fact mattered.

"I'm sure you'll like both pictures," Patricia told me, currently in her 'lightbulb mode'.

Though I didn't exactly agree I smiled at her all the same. That seemed the right thing to do. Smile slightly, be _just_ polite enough to semi-strangers - which is what the Williams family was. We really hadn't known each other for long. Liza didn't need to know someone for more than hours before she'd invite them up to her room or attempt to kill them or something else too exciting for a reasonable person.

One of the characters in the first film (which was _Young Frankenstein_ ) we saw reminded me of Liza. Her name was Elizabeth too, amusingly. Though my Liza is a bit more dramatic and much less silly. I suppose Liza is the femme fatale archetype, while the film's Elizabeth was a parody of such characters. Another difference was how . Well, at first. In any case I, Lucy, couldn't relate to any of it. Though the fact I was thinking about Liza more than usual was a problem. At least her stories were better than those I wrote about that shocking play...

Once Young Frankenstein had ended they gave us a little intermission of about ten minutes. Richard used this time to buy a lollipop for his _daughter_ to suggestively suck and popcorn for the rest of us. This meant me, too. It was like being out at the movies with friends... though not my sort of friends. The rowdier sort who liked movies and loud music. Not that the Williams' aren't nice. They're just sort of strange.

Anyway, the movie began with a giant set of lips singing a slow, seductive song. It only sounded _sort_ _of_ familiar. Eventually I realized that it was...

"The song the usherette sings," I muttered.

Laura nodded, while Patricia said: "It would've been a lot better if they'd let the usherette sing it properly but I do admit it looks nice now. The character of the usherette, who you apparently to really like, is played by the actress who plays Magenta. They allowed the actress from the stage play to portray the lips but no the voice."

"Is that so?" I replied.

"Yes! I find it annoying, you know. Though I keep reminding myself that it really looks nice now. Just look-"

"Shh!" Laura said, interrupting Patricia.

The next bit of the movie played out practically the same way as the stage production I'd seen. Though the actors playing protagonists Brad and Janet were genuine Americans. This was actually sort of nice since it gave the film more of a sense of realism. The fact that it was a moving picture filmed in a graveyard, a forest, Oakley Court, and a variety of other amusing settings made it more real-feeling.

For some reason it sort of sucked me in. The stage play wasn't as entrancing. Seeing the characters huge, projected on a great screen made me feel like I couldn't turn away. It was more polished than the mess of a play with it's messy thrift-store costume design and shabby sets. The actors, too, made me less bothered. Especially the actress playing Magenta... something about her was very friendly. It worried me, though also made me safer. Heartless as they were, I was starting to become attached to the cast of peculiar characters.

Eventually I realized that I really did know these characters. Patricia and Magenta were the same person once you looked past the makeup that Magenta wore. So she was an actress, my neighbor. That explained her changes in personality... or not. There was still something missing in of this puzzle. At least I was nearing the answer to the mystery of Patricia's magical changing personality. Perhaps she was actually a set of twins...

The only other noteworthy thing about that film was a collection of Americans who sang along at times and danced to the Time Warp. I'd never seen anything like it (which may not be a bad thing). Though it wasn't very me. That film and things associated with it were more of a Liza 'thing'. Well, if Liza were a bit less elegant maybe.

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After the film ended I stared at the blank screen for a moment. People were moving, _leaving_ all around me. But I just sat there in silence. It took a few minutes of Patricia tapping me on the shoulder for me to snap out of my dazed state.

"What's wrong?" Laura asked me.

"Nothing... really," I muttered.

There was a brief silence. Then, Patricia spoke. She looked oddly serious... though not as serious as her 'other personality'.

"Do you have any questions?" she said softly.

"Yes. I do."

They waited - all three of them. Eventually they realized I wasn't going to say anything. This seemed to disappoint Patricia and Laura, though Richard appeared to be relieved. He's usually rather emotionless so it's sort of hard to tell what he's feeling or thinking.

We all stayed there for a moment. Too soon the usherette was giving us odd looks. So, without a word, we finally left the theater. Nobody spoke until we'd already gotten back to their apartment and Laura had lit a cigarette. Then, it was quiet ol' Richard who said something.

"Ask away."

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